Guitar

June 22, 2010
By sugrstix GOLD, Zionsville, Indiana
sugrstix GOLD, Zionsville, Indiana
17 articles 5 photos 2 comments

The neck feels smooth,
Resting in the palm of my hand.
My fingers wrap around
As I carefully place them
Accordingly.
Each string,
Different.
The thinnest
When played,
Resembles the piercing pitch at which an infant cries.
The thickest
Mimics the resonant tone of a foghorn
Each string
Depicting the mood,
The feel,
And even the harshness
Or softness of the tune.
I lean forward
Resting my breast comfortably
In the feminine curve of the guitar.
My right arm drapes across
The front of the guitar.
The muscles in my body loosen.
My breath becomes rhythmic
With the beating of my heart.
Just one note at a time.
One string
One chord
One song
One sound


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